The Legend of Gollum's Hollow
by MornieGalad
Summary: A Halloween fanfic. which reveals what Gollum's deceased spirit does and does not do on Halloween night. Rated PG for some scary images. Happy Halloween Everyone.


1_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Tolkien owns the characters. Someone else owns this site. No one owns Halloween, which is why I love holidays. No one can own them, so you don't have to add a disclaimer note to holidays. Oh, well, it gives me the opportunity to write more and test my WPM._

_**The Legend of Gollum's Hollow**_

"Every year, on Halloween, hosts of specters haunt Middle Earth. Ghosts of men, elves,

dwarves and wizards come from their graves this night to haunt the world. The most feared of all these demons is one I myself have met. Early in life, he lived around these parts and was a hobbit-like creature named Sméagol. Later in life he turned to evil and was called Gollum."

"Merry, I didn't know you met Gollum. I thought . . ."

"Shush, Pippin. Who's telling this story: you or me?" Merry resumed the air of a storyteller who was awing his audience with his voice. The assembly of young Hobbits gathered around the campfire gazed up at Merry, anxiously waiting for him to continue. "It wasn't all that long ago when this Gollum creature walked the earth in living form. With his evil ring of invisibility, he crept up on his unsuspecting victim, maybe while they ere reading or even asleep. The last thing the person heard before plunging into eternal silence was a disgusting noise made in the attacker's throat. Thus he was called Gollum Alas, for poor Gollum, his ring was taken away from him by a Hobbit: Bilbo Baggins." The young Hobbits cheered at the mention of the name of one of their heroes, for Bilbo was now a famous Hobbit in the Shire. Then they silenced themselves and Merry continued. "So Gollum spent the rest of his long life in search of the ring and plotting revenge on all Hobbits. In the end, he finally got his precious, as he called the ring, but only in the depths of he fires of Mount Doom." Merry paused dramatically and watched the faces of his young audience as their eyes grew wide in astonishment.

"So, each year since, on Halloween, Gollum comes forth from the fiery pit of Mount Doom. Over all Middle Earth he cries, adding a hissing sound to the breath of the wind. On the river, you might hear his webbed feet flapping against the water. Once he reaches the Shire, he makes his move. Any unsuspecting Hobbit is vulnerable, a juicy prize to be eaten as the price of Gollum's unforgiving thirst for revenge. So, beware, everywhere you are tonight."

"Mr. Merry, isn't there anything that can stop Gollum?"

"There is one thing, and one thing only, that can ward off Gollum's wrath: a raw fish. Only his love for the taste of this creature outweighs his longing for revenge," Merry answered. Sensing that he had finished the story, Merry's audience applauded. The Hobbit rejoined Frodo, Sam, Rosie, and Pippin at the outskirts of the campfire.

"Nice telling, Merry, but did you really have to villainize Gollum?" Frodo asked.

"Come, Frodo. You are far too sensitive. It's a Halloween story. Pippin could be the villain for all anyone cared, just as long as it was scary." No one noticed, but the light of an idea flickered mischievously in the youngest member of the Fellowship's eyes.

"I think it's dreadful to frighten the young ones," Rosie commented, placing her hand over her pregnant body. Sam took the other and held it in his.

"Now, my dear, the children will be fine. They're innocent, which will protect them from any harm," Sam comforted his wife.

"Never harmed me, eh, Pip," Merry laughed, kicking back in his chair.

"Of course not," Pippin replied. Not yet.

Merry was walking home from Hobbiton under a full harvest moon. It was late and the wind was furiously blowing leaves into the dirt road ahead. In the distance and owl hooted mysteriously. This setting would have frightened almost any other Hobbit, but not Meriadoc Brandybuck. In all respects, Merry deemed himself unconquerable be fear, now. He had seen too much horror to succumb to anything. He had seen Gandalf fall into the black chasm of Khazad-dum under the full fury of the Balrog, been shot at by Orcs, stood beside Boromir as he was killed, witnessed the cruelty of the Uruk-Hai, and held his ground against the Witch King of Angmar. A walk down the road at night was no threat to him.

The wind seemed to grow louder as he proceeded on the road to Buckland. It seemed to almost sing in the bare branches of the oak trees. Sam would say it sounded Elvish, Merry thought to himself. Elvish was appropriate, but not scary enough for this Hobbit on Halloween night. They were the voices of Elven specters, Merry told himself. Then he thought he heard movement on the woody hill by the road. He shrugged; for all he knew it was he fulfillment of Saruman's curse on the Shire. As he neared the Brandywine River, Merry thought he heard the flapping of webbed feet, but he could see as clearly as day because of the moon, and nothing disturbed the river's flow. Merry supposed it was juste pieces of his story returning to haunt him, but then he saw a dark figure hunched over by the river bed. It seemed only a shadow to him, odd on a night in which the moon illuminated the world like pure day. Merry turned his glance from the shadow for a brief moment to watch a bat fly across the moon. When he returned his attention to it, the figure was gone, possibly into the woods, the woods Merry would have to pass through to get home. He continued down the path, whistling to himself. He was not far from the forest when the wind howled again, accompanied by a hissing sound, which came distinctly from the forest. Whatever creature had created that ghastly sound, Merry would likely encounter it on his journey.

Tightening his cloak about him and attempting to look as noble as possible, although there was no one he could see to comment on his appearance, Merry proceeded into the darkness of the forest. All the moonlight was devoured in the shadows of the wood. The darkness enveloped Merry as well, making him but a shadow in the midst of blackened trees. Merry knew the path well, though, and was accustomed to traveling it at night. For a while he heard only his own footsteps, but later he was certain he heard a rustle in the fallen leaves off to the side of his path. The rustling, as far as Merry could tell, was slightly faster than he was, and headed the same direction. Merry picked up his pace, but the rustling quickened as well. Then the Hobbit remembered that Gollum was accustomed to the darkness and could see him, while Merry had no idea where the creature was, which gave the specter the advantage. 'Don't be silly, Merry,' he told himself, but then, on the path ahead, he appeared.

In the darkness, Merry could only see the silhouette of the creature ahead of him, but there was no denying its existence. The figure was hunched over, his head facing straight toward the Hobbit, who stood as still as a statue, wondering what to do. He stood there, just staring, waiting for the vision to disappear. Then, to his horror, he realized Gollum was approaching him. The slimy creature hissed, and Merry almost thought he saw a smile on the creature's dead face, a smile of revenge. He knew for certain he had no desire to see that hideous face any closer, so he raced off in the opposite direction. His heart pounded in rhythm with his large feet, thrashing the ground beneath him, but behind him he could hear Gollum's hissing breath, sounding closer and more vicious as Merry's terror mounted.

"Oooo, precious, is it juicy!?" Gollum shrieked. Ahead of him, Merry saw it: moonlight. Gollum hated light. Just a little further and he would be there. Then Merry felt something slimy on his shoulder and a weight on his back, pulling him down. "Gollum, Gollum," came the victory cry as Merry fell to the ground. The Hobbit rolled over for the last time to face his killer.

"Pippin!" Merry shrieked in surprise and relief. His cousin was mischievously sitting triumphantly on his chest, looking like a complete idiot. He had his hair greased back in a matted mess, some slimy substance over his entire body, and nothing on, save a loincloth.

"Precious," Pippin said in his normal voice. "Now my throat hurts." Merry opened his mouth to ask a thousand questions, but thought better of it. He might be better off not knowing. Pippin rose and helped his cousin up. Now it was really late. The two Hobbits made it to Merry's house without incident, chattering merrily the whole way.

"This will make a grand story," Pippin joked.

"We'll just have to amend it next Halloween," Merry managed to laugh, wondering what the audience would think of his tale of returning from the dead. He was still a bit shaken up, but not angry in the least. Pippin yawned, trying to throw a hint.

"Yes, you can stay the night," Merry laughed. "Just don't turn into a five hundred-year-old Hobbit." The two best friends shared a laugh and settled into their respective beds.

That night, from the depths of Mount Doom, strange noises echoed throughout Middle Earth. Some called them hisses, others deemed them vicious, while others claimed they were just the wind. Still others believe the sounds are those of a soul, tormented for too many years, finally set free to be with his precious and see the world as he could never see it in life because of all the cruelty that it bore on him. He could see Middle Earth filled with good. By looking down on the Shire, Sméagol could see the good that he achieved and preserved, and his soul could finally be at peace. He had the precious.


End file.
